


make the yuletide gay (next year all our troubles will be miles away)

by crowdyke



Category: Atypical (TV 2017)
Genre: Christmas Music, Christmas Party, F/F, Fluff, Kissing, Mistletoe, No Angst, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, driving around looking at christmas lights, lots of softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21912349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowdyke/pseuds/crowdyke
Summary: Casey and Izzie share a kiss under the mistletoe at the Gardner family Christmas party.
Relationships: Casey Gardner/Izzie
Comments: 11
Kudos: 241





	make the yuletide gay (next year all our troubles will be miles away)

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello hello! isabella here. since our 4&1 fic won't be out until after christmas and anna and i have had some difficulty finding time to work on it together what w/all the holiday chaos, i decided to write this little fluffy oneshot to tide y'all over. it's soft. like, there's literally no angst in here, and also it's pretty much g-rated. full disclosure the finale to our series is Heavy on the angst and definitely not g-rated, so this is a nice change. also 2 b clear this work is an AU from the 4&1 series. i pretty much wrote this in a day and didn't feel like proofreading it, so if you see any major errors just drop me a line. anyway, let me know what you think! if u enjoy please leave a comment (they rlly make my day)! and happy holidays from my family to yours <33

“Oh, come on, we drove out here for THIS?” Casey groans as she rolled to a stop, shifting her car into park against the curb of a snowy street. “This is nothing. Weak sauce.”

“I think they’re pretty good!” Izzie objects, gesturing at a home encrusted with Christmas lights, inflatable snowmen, and eight sparkling reindeer. “It’s better than any of the other ones we’ve passed.”

“Disagree.”

“Oh, come on! The house you loved over on Shadford didn’t even have the good icicle lights. This one has, like, all the reindeer.”

“There’s only eight. They’re missing Rudolph!” Casey complains. 

“Rudolph isn’t a real reindeer. I mean, come on. A red nose?”

“I can’t believe you think Rudolph is fake,” Casey said in disbelief, laughing in spite of her indignance.

“He’s basically ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas’ fanfiction!” Izzie protests. “Look, all I’m sayin’ is that he’s not, like, a top tier reindeer. This house definitely shouldn’t be deducted Christmas Points for omitting him.” Izzie pokes Casey in the side, eliciting a begrudging smirk from the taller girl.

“Boo, you whore.” Casey mumbles, her face scrunching up as she tries not to smile.

“Boo yourself!” 

“Scrooge—”

“ _Grinch_ —”

“Kiss me?” Casey offers.

“Maybe,” Izzie concedes, reaching across the console to softly cup Casey’s face. She presses her lips to Casey’s ever-so-gently, and when they part, they rest their foreheads together. The two girls stay like that for a moment (or maybe two, or three), their faces painted softly with the rainbow glow of the house beside them. 

“I guess _this_ was worth driving for,” Casey admits, and they both laugh. Suddenly, Casey’s phone rings, and she pulls away. When she sees the screen, she groans dramatically.

“Who?” Izzie asks, despite having a pretty clear idea.

“The Ice Queen,” Casey mutters before irately tapping the green ‘answer’ button. “Yeeeeeees, Mother?”

“Where are you? The party started at six!” The tinny voice of Elsa sounds through the phone and fills the car.

“I was planning on being fashionably late.”

“To your own family’s Christmas party? I mean, what are you even doing right now that could be so important?”

“I’m driving,” Casey deadpans. “In fact, this is a distraction, and I should probably hang up—”

“Nice try. Your phone isn’t moving on my tracking app.”

“Then why did you call me if you know where I am?” Casey rolls her eyes to Izzie, silently mouthing _this woman_ as she shakes her head. Izzie suppresses a laugh. 

“Because I wanted to know why you and Izzie—hi Izzie, sweetie—why you and Izzie are sitting outside the McGinnis’s house at 6:32 in a snowstorm.” Casey looks out the window. Two, perhaps three, snowflakes flutter through the air. The road is dry. 

“Figures the McGinnis’s would be anti-Rudolph,” Casey mutters into the phone.

“Huh?” Elsa says confusedly.

“Hi Mrs. Gardner!” Izzie cheerfully interrupts from the passenger seat.

“No, stop—don’t be nice to her!” Casey hisses, covering the microphone with her hand. Izzie wrestles the phone away from her. As she brings it to her ear, she places a single finger over Casey’s lips, startling Casey enough with this that she actually falls silent.

“Hi, Mrs. Gardner,” Izzie repeats brightly. Casey again rolls her eyes. “We were just driving around looking at some lights. We’ll be there soon.”

Elsa’s voice softens when Izzie takes the phone. “Well, just don’t be too much longer. You wouldn’t want to miss dinner,”

“Oh, God _forbid_ we miss dinner—” Casey interjects, but Izzie shushes her again. 

“We’re on our way, Mrs. Gardner,” She says, mouthing to Casey _drive!_ as she finishes up the phone call. “Uh-huh...yep. Okay, yeah...uh-huh. Yes, I’ll make sure she drives safe. Yep. Okay, see you soon. Alright. Buh-bye.” Izzie hangs up the phone and hands it back to Casey, who sticks it in the center console. 

“Better hurry,” Izzie says, “or your mom might strangle you with your own twinkle lights.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Casey mutters, pulling the car into the road and beginning the drive home.

...

When they walk into the house, they are greeted with a tasteful Christmas explosion. The bannister is coiled with garland, the windows strung with lights, a fire blazes in the hearth where four lovely stockings hang from the mantle—and, subtle as can be, a bundle of mistletoe dangles in a doorway.

“Merry _Christmas_ , Newton,” Izzie whistles appreciatively. Casey can’t help but smile in spite of herself.

“Better late than never!” Elsa appears in the living room, a glass of red wine caught between her fingers and the world’s most fabulously ugly sweater wrapped around her torso. “Your father and I were beginning to wonder if you’d show up at all.”

“How could I ever miss...this?” Casey says, gesturing to the multitude of middle-aged neighbors dressed in hideous holiday attire gathered around her. Elsa swats at her head, and she ducks. 

“It’s _Christmas_ , Casey! At least try to enjoy yourself,” Elsa says. “And, Izzie dear, make yourself at home. We’ll have dinner soon.” 

When Elsa returns to the dining room, Casey reaches for Izzie’s hand, knitting their fingers together. 

“Is it too early to sneak off?” She whispers into Izzie’s ear, pulling her closer by the waist. Izzie giggles in the warmth of it all, in Casey’s touch, the fireplace, the holiday spirit. 

“But dinner’s almost ready,” Izzie protests, laughing and pawing Casey away. “And we don’t even have our sweaters on yet!”

Casey relents. “Fine, fine. Let’s at least go put those on. In my room. You’ll need to take off your shir—” Izzie shoves Casey so hard she stumbles and both of them crack up before darting their way to the stairs.  
...

Dinner passes uneventfully, and Casey and Izzie are sitting cuddled by the fire as the party mills about around them. Sam and Zahid stand in the corner, the latter appearing to be eyeing the neighbor’s daughter who’s dressed in a rather tightly-fitting and not-so-ugly sweater. 

Izzie interrupts their scheming when she calls over to Sam. “I like your sweater, dude,” She says, head tilted back on the couch. He’s wearing a thickly knitted blue getup, featuring an ice-skating penguin wearing a Santa hat. A cotton-blend undershirt pokes out of the sleeve cuffs. 

“Thank you,” Sam nods, knotting his hands behind his back. “Penguins can’t ice skate, of course, not to mention that Santa hats would be found at the North Pole, and penguins are an _Antarctic_ species, but it despite its scientific inaccuracies I still decided to purchase it.” One corner of his mouth jerks into a smile. “You have a good sweater too, Izzie.” He immediately turns back to Zahid, who appears to be getting ready to make a move. 

“It is a good sweater,” Casey agrees, taking another look at her girlfriend’s outfit. Izzie’s is a delightfully red jumper with ‘NAUGHTY’ spelled out in gold sequins across the front. Casey’s been biting back unseemly comments all night, and she’s about _this_ close to giving in. “Definitely better than mine.” Casey took the theme rather literally and borrowed an awful argyle sweater from Doug. It’s not even holiday themed, just hideous. He has yet to notice. Izzie nods, snuggling closer and resting her head on Casey’s shoulder.

Casey wraps an arm around her, tucking her legs under herself on the couch. 

“This is nice,” She says, enjoying the atmosphere. 

“Your mom puts on a pretty good party,” Izzie points out. “And I like that you invited me to this one.”

Casey groans. “If you’re talking about my sweet sixteen, I thought I said never to mention that again.”

“How can I not! I mean, we’re in your room, _this close_ to kissing—”

“And then Elsa walks in! I know, I know.” 

“Oh, come on. You think _that’s_ what I had a problem with? I was talking about how you made out with Evan seconds after we came down the stairs. That stung a little.” Izzie’s tone is lighthearted, but nonetheless, Casey’s face burns. 

“Ahhhhhh!! Stop!! Please, do _not_ talk to me about that—”

“Oooooh, Evan! Can I get a rain check, Evan?” Izzie coos, mocking her and poking her in the side as Casey buries her face, laughing in spite of herself. 

“Alright, alright. You got me. Not one of my finer moments. But if we really want to talk, how about you at the track party—”

“No!” Izzie yelps, and it’s her turn to cover her face. 

Casey lets it go. “Alright, alright.” Moments later, her eyes lights up. “Hey!” She says, “Why don’t we open presents?”

“Sounds good,” Izzie says, relieved in the change of topic. “I think I left mine in your car, though.”

Casey puts on a goofy face, jumping to her feet and offering Izzie her hand. “Let’s ride, buckaroo!” Izzie laughs, taking Casey’s hand and springing off the couch. 

As Izzie gets the present from the car, Casey stands in the doorway, dancing on her toes to keep warm as the other girl sprints through the snow. She throws open the trunk and reaches for a parcel before shoving it under her sweater and darting back into the house. “Good time,” Casey remarks, imitating Coach Crowley. “If you keep that up you might have a shot with UCLA.” 

“Shut the hell your mouth,” Izzie retorts once inside. “And close that damn door.”

Izzie’s present is exquisitely wrapped and shedding glitter from an ostentatiously festive ribbon bow. She sets it down on the coffee table, looking rather pleased with herself. She grins. “Alright then, where’s your present to me?” She pouts dramatically, batting her eyelashes at Casey.

“Uh, I think I put it in the laundry room. So no one would put it under our tree, y’know. C’mon,” Casey says. She grasps Izzie’s hand and they both run, skidding on their fuzzy socks through the doorway. Casey reaches up onto a high shelf and nabs a misshapen package. 

“Behold,” Casey says, “The Ratatouille Bag.” 

In her grasp hangs the best and worst gift bag the world has ever seen. Pictured on its face is Remy, the rat chef, along with the phrases ‘Bon Appetit!’ and ‘Le Plus Petit Chef’. The bag appears to be wrinkled and creased, as though it has been passed from giver to receiver like a cursed doll. Most importantly, though, is the real wooden spoon in Remy’s grip, once likely inserted into the paper itself but now taped on as though an afterthought. It was beautiful. It was humbling. It was a sin against god himself. Sheets of sad tissue paper wilt, crumpling out of the top. 

“What...Casey, what have you done?” Izzie chokes, doubled over laughing. Casey can hardly contain herself either. They lose it in the laundry room for a moment, aware that what they are really laughing at is not the bag, though it is doubtlessly hilarious. They are laughing with each other, with the curve of each other’s smiles, the cinch of their brows and noses and narrowing of their eyes. Each knows if she keeps laughing, so will the other, and that is as good a gift as they could ever want anyway. 

Slowly, they make their way out of the laundry room, Izzie clutching the bedraggled Ratatouille bag to her chest with one hand and wrapping the other around Casey’s waist. She notices something as they walk and stops dead in the doorway. 

“Hey, Newton?” She says, brown eyes darting above her head to the mistletoe dangling from the doorframe. “Is that what I think it is?”

Casey pokes her tongue into her cheek, grinning widely and pulling Izzie in by the waist, who drops the Ratatouille Bag unceremoniously to the floor. “Mmmm,” Casey teases, bag forgotten. “I dunno.”

“Guess you gotta kiss me,” Izzie shrugs, attempting downplay her smile but failing miserably. She leans her head in against Casey’s, pressing their foreheads together. 

“Guess so,” Casey whispers. Glancing once or twice to either side, she makes sure the coast is clear of onlookers before pushing Izzie back up against the other side of the doorway and kissing her deeply, opening her mouth against her lips. Izzie kisses her back, wrapping her arms around Casey’s neck as she smiles into the embrace. Casey rests one hand on Izzie’s face, stroking her cheek with one thumb while running the other hand under Izzie’s sweater. When it catches against the sequins, she smirks. 

Breathing into Izzie’s ear, she whispers, “Maybe we could go up to my room and do something even _naughtier_ —”

Izzie nearly smacks Casey across the forehead. “Casey!” She glances around worriedly, making sure no one heard. 

“Is that a candy cane in your pocket or are you just happy to see m—”

Izzie cuts her off with another kiss, so deep that their teeth clash together and even Casey is startled slightly off balance. She stumbles into the Ratatouille Bag and winces. 

“Unfortunate,” Izzie offers indifferently when greeted with the new crease which has appeared on the bag’s visage. 

“I suppose we better get to opening.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

...

However they may have been wrapped, the gifts are well received. Casey presents Izzie with several Lush bath bombs and a toner that she knew her girlfriend had been eyeing. Izzie gives Casey a UCLA baseball cap, which she immediately plops backwards onto her head, determined to break it in. Izzie’s lovely wrapping paper and Casey’s cursed bag alike lay strewn about on the floor. 

Once more, they curl up together, hat-wearing and freshly spritzed with toner. Their conversation fades into a comfortable lull. Folks have begun to leave the party, waving merry goodbyes to those still gathered as Elsa forces tins of food and cookies into their hands. The door swings open as they leave and snowflakes flurry into the house, the momentary blast of cold air no match for the blazing fire in the hearth. The bubbling room simmers, time thickening into syrup. 

In the background, the opening chords of _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_ swell into the living room. Izzie begins to sing it, softly, into Casey’s shoulder.

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas  
Let your heart be light  
Next year all our troubles will be out of sight  
Have yourself a merry little Christmas  
Make the yuletide gay  
Next year all our troubles will be miles away_

Casey joins her for the second stanza, their voices entwining themselves together, so quietly that no one but them can hear.

_Once again as in olden days  
Happy golden days of yore  
Faithful friends who are dear to us  
Will be near to us once more_

They finish together, tenderly, Izzie’s voice high and clear and Casey’s the deeper undercurrent beneath it all. 

_Someday soon we all will be together  
If the fates allow  
Until then we'll have to muddle through somehow  
So have yourself a merry little Christmas now._

The song fades out, replaced by something newer that neither of them know well enough to sing along to. 

“I love you,” Casey says suddenly, like it’s a realization, a statement of fact. 

“I love you too,” Izzie replies simply, and she knows it’s true. There’s no fanfare, nothing dramatic. In that moment they are only two girls keeping warm together. 

Casey nods, like she’s thinking. Izzie’s eyes find the windows, watching thick bursts of snowflakes fall against the glass. Casey’s hands stroke Izzie’s shoulders absentmindedly, fingers tracing nonsense into her skin through the sweater. Izzie breathes in deeply, inhaling Casey’s smell, basking in her presence. Time passes very quickly and not at all as the evening progresses. 

Sam and Zahid return to the living room, all the eligible women having left the party. Elsa clatters about in the kitchen, washing the last of the dishes, and Doug stops in to tend the fire. He sees his daughter, almost dozing beside her girlfriend, and huffs bemusedly, a smile reaching for his eyes. All the guests have gone. The world feels exceptionally gentle tonight. 

Elsa breaks the reverie as she enters the room. “Izzie honey, how were you planning to get home?” She’s concerned, hands resting on her hips in that motherly way. Izzie blinks, waking herself up.

“Oh, uh...oh, I think I’d planned on taking the bus. I know Casey’s license doesn’t work after 10.” She yawns, stretches, shifting for the first time in over an hour. 

“Well...” Elsa considers, casting a glance out the window, “I hardly think you should be taking the bus in this weather. I’d drive you, but the roads are lookin’ pretty bad out there and we don’t have our snow tires yet.” Casey’s face lights up, knowing what her mother will suggest next.

“Why don’t you give your mom a call and see if she’ll let you stay the night? I’ll drive you back after breakfast when the roads are clear. We’re having scrambled eggs.”

“Sounds great, Mrs. Gardner,” Izzie says, grinning widely and reaching for her phone.

...

That night, as they lay in bed, Casey once more finds herself staring up at the ceiling with Izzie sleeping soundly by her side. This time, though, she is calm as can be, with not a care nor want in the world. Snowflakes drift softly through the sky, blanketing the earth in the coziest quiet. The moon glows on the crest of the newfallen snow, filling Casey’s bedroom with a silver luster. She sighs, warm. 

Elsa and Doug and Sam have all long since gone to bed, but someone has forgotten to turn off the radio. As her heavy lids droop shut, Casey thinks she can hear one last song permeating her bedroom, cozying itself between her covers.

_Silent night  
Holy night  
All is calm, all is bright  
Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child  
Holy infant so tender and mild  
Sleep in heavenly peace  
Sleep in heavenly peace_

Casey yawns, rolling over and closer to Izzie’s warmth. A furnace. The stars glitter brightly on the snow outside her window as she settles, at last, into rest. 

_Sleep in heavenly peace._

**Author's Note:**

> i will post a picture of the ratatouille bag (based on a true story) on my tumblr over @theatrelesbabe. it's horrific. also do expect some art of these two coming out in the next day or so. lots of love! <33 isabella


End file.
